


the things i'll do for you

by paperpenpal



Series: Read the Syllabus [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, No Beta, Romance, Secret Relationship, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: Sylvain doesn’t mind it at first.  In fact, he had thought the sneaking around was actually kind of hot but, unlike in his daydreams, there are absolutely no stolen kisses in the classrooms or brushing of hands as they pass each other in the hallway.No, Ingrid is strictly, terrifyingly in control at every moment of the dayAnd Sylvain...well he might just be getting a little tired of hiding it.OrSeveral more scenes of that secret relationship in The Modern Day American Teacher AU I keep writing.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Read the Syllabus [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778224
Comments: 32
Kudos: 72





	the things i'll do for you

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this for forever but wanted to wait until my other project was done. Then I had an 11PM brainblast and now it's 3:35 and I'm too tired to edit this silly thing.
> 
> Set in that Modern Teachers AU
> 
> Also, in case you didn't know, a Senior Overnight is when all the Seniors (4th year high school students) sleep over in the school. Don't ask me why but it's a thing.

Sylvain doesn’t mind it at first. In fact, he had thought the sneaking around was actually kind of hot but, unlike in his daydreams, there are absolutely no stolen kisses in the classrooms or brushing of hands as they pass each other in the hallway.

No, Ingrid is strictly, terrifyingly in control at every moment of the day.

He’s not as good at it. He’s not _bad_ at it necessarily but he doesn’t have the same resolve she does.

Sometimes, when he’s feeling insecure, he wonders if maybe it’s because she doesn’t feel the same or at least, doesn’t feel as deeply. Because, the thing is, this is hard for him. It’s hard not to tell her he loves her when he sees her. It’s hard not to hold her hand before they slip into their classrooms, classrooms that _are right next to each other_ and it is hard, so damn hard, not to brag about her.

Because he wants to. Damn does he want to. He wants to sit at a lunch table with Dimitri and Felix and Claude and Hilda and whoever the hell else is in the lounge and say, “hey, look at my girlfriend, isn’t she absolutely amazing?”

Instead, he has to be vague. Hell, Claude doesn’t even believe he has a girlfriend, or if he does, he keeps teasing Sylvain about her not being real anyway and there is nothing Sylvain can do to prove it.

The one time he tried, the one time he pulled his collar down to show off the hickey on his neck, Hilda had simply dismissed it - said something about how he could have gotten it anywhere from anyone and Ingrid had been so mad at him that she didn’t let him kiss her for the entire day.

Because he can’t show them pictures. He doesn’t have her as the lock screen on his phone. He can’t tag her in any of the photos he’s not allowed to post. He isn’t allowed to prove that he’s hers. All he has is the time they have together.

And that’s nice, that’s wonderful - he would never ever trade the year and a half he’s had with her so far for anything.

But man, does he want to brag about her. 

Because he’s got no one. Ingrid has some brothers she can show off to but he’s just got her.

And every day, it gets a little harder to hide it. Because he’s in love with her. He’s hopelessly devoted to her entirely and that’s terrifying too.

* * *

It’s four-thirty in the morning when her awful terrible godforsaken phone alarm goes off again. He had been having a really amazingly pleasant dream about the woman in his arms when it had been so rudely interrupted and, honestly, if he could reach it, he would have thrown the damn thing at the wall.

He groans something long and dramatic as her arm reaches to the nightstand on her side of the bed to shut it off. “Why do you do this every time?” he complains, sounding not unlike a petulant child.

He feels her kiss the top of his head as she throws the covers off of her. He refuses to let her go, holding her even closer, squirming his face into her shoulder. If he hadn’t been so annoyed at being woken up at the ungodly hours of a Wednesday morning, he would have smiled at the way she laughs at him.

“Sylvain, you know why,” she says quietly, trying to pry his fingers off of her stomach. He tightens his grip. “Go back to sleep.”

“Only if you stay,” he whines, finding her neck and burying himself further in her, eyes still shut and adamantly refusing to accept the fact that he is currently awake. He snakes a leg between hers and tangles around her even more. “Please Ingrid. Please, I’m begging you, let’s just go back to sleep.”

“I’m _trying_ to let you sleep.” And he can hear her smile even when he can’t see it.

“With me. Sleep with me. Please. I am so so tired and you are so _so_ warm.”

“You know, the only reason I set it so early is because you do this every time,” she scolds lightly. He feels her hands running through his hair. “If you just let me go, I could give you an extra hour and a half of sleep and still make it home in time to shower.”

“Just shower here!” he tells her. “We’ll save water.”

“We’ll just end up late for work and you know it.”

They would absolutely end up late for work. He loves to linger. He loves to love her, slowly and completely but that was beside the point. “Then I just won’t get in,” he huffs. “I have a perfectly good shower that you can use. And I can make us breakfast and coffee at a reasonable hour. Ingrid, _please.”_

“Sylvain…” she trails.

Ingrid is relentless. Even after all this time, even after a _year and a half_ , Ingrid refuses to spend the entire night on a school night. Sometimes, he can convince her to skip her shower and she stays in bed with him for a little longer but that’s still only after the horrible alarm goes off, only after he is disrupted from a perfectly good night of rest.

She always kisses him in the morning, always slips out, thinking that he goes right back to sleep for another hour or two without her.

But he doesn’t. He just stays awake, miserable at the idea of a bed without her in it. The nights she doesn’t stay over are hell and twice now he’s given up and just driven over to her apartment the next town over at midnight.

“Please,” he begs. “You can still drive to work and I can walk. No one will know. We can even come in from two different directions.”

“Sylvain,” she sighs, and he knows what she’s going to say even when it makes no damn sense. “It’s too risky.”

He switches tactics. He opens his eyes and maneuvers them both so quickly so that she is pinned under him. 

“Sylvain!” She giggles and he kisses her. He kisses her and kisses her until she finally breaks away for air and even then he continues, trailing down her neck and the soft skin of her bare chest.

But before he gets a chance to do anything more she yanks him away and he literally whimpers, falling beside her, face-first into the sheets. At first, he is terrified that she’s angry but then when he lifts his head and chances a glance at her, he can just make out the teasing little smile on her face. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

He groans and before he has a chance to retort, before he can say that he’s pretty sure she’s killing him, she escapes from the bed to rummage through his closet to find something of his to wear. She keeps some of her clothes here but he always ends up missing a shirt or two when she stays over. He is both really pleased and really annoyed by it.

“Go back to sleep.” She whispers when she reappears above him, kissing him gently. He tries to grab her wrist to pull her back to him but she’s quick and skilled and already out of his bedroom door before he can stop her.

 _Yeah right._ He thinks, _fat chance of that happening._

He takes a very long and very miserable cold shower afterwards.

* * *

Sylvain’s not even allowed to really do much when she’s hit on and it would be fine if it didn’t literally happen all the damn time.

When they’re on a date, they’re usually safe. Ingrid holds his hand and he gets to take an annoying amount of selfies and try and fail to feed her because they plan all their dates in places far away from school and Garreg Mach and only a truly specific type of asshole would hit on a girl so clearly taken.

But, on the Friday nights after a particularly long week that the faculty like to unwind together at Anna’s, their favorite local bar, he is not allowed to touch her.

Sure, he gets to stare at her from across the bar but only if no one catches him, and sure, he talks to her and is even allowed to throw a compliment her way but he wants to dance with her. He wants to throw his arm around her shoulder and kiss her. He wants to punch the dickhead who’s trying to get her number right at this moment.

Sylvain’s a jealous guy. He’ll admit it. One of the many many reasons he loves Ingrid so much is that she already knows this and doesn’t hold it against him.

She always handles herself perfectly fine. Ingrid usually says, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” And they leave her alone and even if they don’t, she still handles herself fine. Plus she’s got backup. Dorothea is only about a foot away at any given moment, ready to chase someone across the street if needed and that woman is way more terrifying than he could ever be.

But is it so bad to want to be the one to rescue her? Ingrid would say yes, he knows this but in his drunken jealous delirium, he wants to. He wants to be her knight in shining armor. He wants to be her hero.

And he knows she doesn’t need one but maybe he needs to be one. Just once.

But right now, she’s humoring the guy, a guy who happens to be pretty handsome with his stupid brown hair and broad shoulders. She’s chatting with him and Sylvain is throwing daggers straight in their direction.

God, he wants to kill the guy.

Sylvain’s going to kill him.

Ingrid will probably end up killing him by the end of it but he doesn’t care. He’s going for it.

He saunters up to her, two bottles in hand. One is his, the other is her favorite.

“Hey,” he greets as casual as he can, “got you another.”

Ingrid beams at him, “Thanks!” She says, taking the beer from him. Sylvain wants to grin smugly, so he does, looking straight at the guy.

And then he realizes something. He recognizes him. Not only is the dude the parent of one of his students, but he’s also one of the district administrators. What was his name again?

“Oh hey Sylvain.” The man is wearing a wedding ring and a big smile on his face underneath his giant handlebar mustache. He’s friendly and Sylvain now feels like an asshole. “I was just saying hi.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says dumbly and then the name comes to him. “Alois right?”

“That’s my name! Don’t wear it out.” He grins, clapping Sylvain hard on the shoulder. “Well, anyway, I should probably get going. Good to see you all. Nice chatting with you Ingrid, I’ll see you at the next board meeting.”

Ingrid bids a very polite and perfectly reasonable goodbye to the man and then raises an eyebrow at Sylvain. He shrinks a bit under her gaze. “Hello Sylvain.” She smirks.

“Erm-Hi Ingrid.”

She tips her drink back pointedly, says nothing more before promptly turning to join Annette and Mercedes at the dartboard while he sinks his head onto the sticky bar.

That night, she laughs herself hoarse when he pouts at her from the bed and she stays the whole weekend.

* * *

The first time they are caught together on their day off, they’re just running. It’s completely innocuous and nobody clues in.

It’s way too early on a Saturday morning but, for once, Ingrid decides that it’s safe enough to stick around Garreg Mach. They never get to go on dates in town. There are simply way too many people to run into.

Which is why this isn’t even a date. It’s just exercise. They’ve just come down from a five-mile run ending at the park nearest to his place at seven in the morning and it looked almost effortless to Ingrid. Sure, she’s sweaty and beautiful -might he add, but those five miles come easy to her. 

He’s in very good shape too. He makes a point of showing off and proving it to her whenever he can. She doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

It is not their first time running together. It is not their first time working out together. Hell, he’s got two yoga mats in his hallway closet, (green for her, red for him) because it’s a fun thing they can do together without leaving the house. But it is the first time they run into anyone while doing it.

Leonie and Petra jog up to them as he and Ingrid are starting a series of cool-down stretches.

“Hey guys!” Leonie greets. Ingrid has her back to them and Sylvain had simply not noticed the pair until they jogged up, too fixated on the shoelace he’s tying on the picnic bench they’re resting next to. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ingrid startles so hard she loses her balance while pulling her left leg back for a quad stretch and has to slam her free hand down on the surface of the wooden picnic table. She shoots Sylvain a quick panicked look before turning around, palm red from the force of which she hit the surface.

“Oh hey!” she greets with a somewhat strained smile, sounding only a little tiny bit breathless, something that could easily be attributed to the run they just had.

He thinks she’s probably thankful that they’re not wearing the matching track jackets he bought them as a joke. That would almost certainly give them away but he also finds that he’s actually disappointed by it. Although she is running in one of his old college T-Shirts, not that either Leonie or Petra would know this.

Petra smiles brightly, looking really too chipper for how early it is. “Oh, are you training for the marathon too?” 

“Uh,” Ingrid starts and Sylvain throws her a very quick very alarmed look at her. _Please don’t-_ “Yep!” Ingrid says brightly. “That is…that is exactly what we’re doing. We are training for the marathon.”

“HALF!” he squawks. His voice is so high pitched and frazzled that he has to clear it when three sets of really confused eyes look at him. “We are running the half marathon.” 

“Cool,” Leonie says, jogging in place to keep her heart rate up, “Petra and I are running it together.” 

Petra nods her head in confirmation before saying, “Oh! Perhaps we can be training together.” 

Ingrid smiles kindly at them both. “Yeah! That sounds like fun but I don’t actually live nearby. I just came today to make sure he actually starts training.”

The excuse comes easily to Ingrid and it almost surprises him. He knows she doesn’t actually enjoy lying, knows because, for all of his gripes about the secret they share, she has them too. He knows how badly she wishes she could tell Annette and Mercedes and that’s not even mentioning the constant onslaught of teasing questions from Dorothea. 

They part ways with the girls but it’s not until the two are around the bend and out of sight that Sylvain turns to her. “Did you just sign me up for a marathon?”

“Half,” she teases, wincing a little, “but yes? I’m sorry? It’s for a good cause!”

“Babe!” He whines, drawing it out. “I cannot _believe_ you’re gonna make me run ten miles just so you don’t have to admit that you’re dating me.”

“Thirteen…” she says quietly with the world’s most innocent and yet somehow apologetic grin on her face.

He blanches. “Girlfriend said what?”

“Technically 13.1,” she tells him, reaching for his arm when he throws his hands to his face groaning.

“Ingrid!”

“I know, I know,” she tries to console, but she sounds way too amused by this. Was she forgetting the part where she has to run this too? Or was she just not at all phased by that fact? “I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn right you will,” he grumbles before suddenly hauling her over his shoulder.

“Sylvain!” she shouts. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

He does not put her down. He refuses to. He stalks away from the picnic table and towards the street. “I’m taking you home so that you can make it up to me.”

“It’s half a mile away!”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You are not carrying me all the way there. I’m heavy, put me down.”

“And I’m strong, it’s fine, I’m committed to this, just like you’ve committed me to a marathon.”

“Half…”

He slaps her butt in plain view of the entire park and is very lucky that she doesn’t kill him for it.

* * *

As hard as he tries to keep it a secret, his students definitely seem to think there’s something going on or at least that something shouldbe going on. They have been playing matchmaker for years and it’s mostly just a joke. He doesn’t actually think they know anything but he makes enough vague comments that there’s really no way for them to have any confirmation.

And he knows, he _knows_ that this is the actual reason why Ingrid is keeping it a secret from her friends. He knows it’s not because she’s ashamed of him, he knows it’s not because of the fact that they’re coworkers. He knows it’s because if the teachers know, if their friends know, the students will absolutely find out.

It’s actually pretty funny the various very obvious ways the students try to manufacture opportunities to get them to talk and he lets them, partly because it drives Ingrid crazy but mostly because he really would just use any excuse to talk to her.

So far this year, there have been many many instances of Ingrid’s missing supplies found mysteriously in his classroom and at least two occasions where he was sent to the wrong classroom only to find her there. She thinks it’s ridiculous, he thinks it’s cute.

Operation Matchmakers’ latest endeavor included getting them both to chaperone the Senior Overnight because, “Oh please please _please_ Mr. Gautier, no one else would do it except Mr. Von Vestra and...well…”

And that’s how he and Ingrid end up spending a perfectly beautiful Friday night patrolling the dark hallways of GMA with flashlights to make sure that no one was sneaking out to hook up in the hallways.

Never mind the fact that _he_ is very tempted to hook up in the hallways.

She would absolutely kill him for it.

“So…” he says quietly as they walk through the science building. “When you said you were busy Friday night-”

It’s too dark to see her but he knows she’s shooting him a glare for being so bold as to speak about each other in school. 

“Sylvain,” she scolds.

He sighs and continues down the hall. It’s midnight. Everyone is supposed to be asleep but he knows for a fact that there are a bunch of teenagers scuttling around trying to avoid them. He swears he can hear them crawling around, although, honestly, they could also be the mice that Lindhardt keeps in the lab rooms.

“This isn’t how I thought I’d spend my weekend,” he says instead. He can’t believe he agreed to this. Chaperons were usually arranged weeks in advance. How did they both get called in last minute?

There is definitely something fishy here.

Ingrid is quiet for a moment and he thinks, _well, that was worth a shot,_ before she speaks. “Me either,” she admits.

He looks over to her, shining the flashlight in her direction and watches her wince even though he’s only pointing at her torso. “So how’d you get roped into it?”

“Two very sweet girls came up to me and begged,” she says, pushing his flashlight back so that it lights up the hall, “said they were terrified of Hubert.”

Sylvain barks a laugh. “Let me guess,” he says, “they were twins and their names were Em and Nic.”

“That would be them, yes.” She groans. “Why? Did they ask you too?”

“Yeah but less begging and more fluttering eyelashes.”

She shakes her head but he can tell she’s actually amused and trying very hard not to be. 

“You know they talk about us right?” he asks. “They seem to think we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Right,” she laughs, “because teenagers are _so_ great at romance.” 

He leans into her ear and whispers, “are you saying they’re wrong?”

Ingrid stills in place, stopping in her tracks and Sylvain feels her hand brush his. It takes almost everything for him not to hold it. 

“Well,” she continues, at a normal volume, “I guess they could know a thing or two about it.”

That night, they end up breaking up two couples making out and one on their way to making out.

God, he wishes that were him.

* * *

The first person to find out about them is Dorothea and it is, as Ingrid would yell later, entirely his fault.

It’s an accident. He hadn’t even realized what had happened until it was too late.

Dorothea and Ingrid had been walking down the hall together, chatting away like they usually do when the drama teacher had stopped to invite him to a barbecue Caspar was hosting.

“Sorry, can’t.” He grins sheepishly. “I’m taking my girlfriend to the botanical gardens this weekend.”

Ingrid’s eyes go wide with a realization that Sylvain doesn’t clue onto, doesn’t until Dorothea’s wild eyes darts back between the two of them frantically, hair whipping with the force of the way she does it. 

“Oh my god.” Dorothea gasps. “ _Oh my god_!”

Ingrid quickly grabs hold of Dorothea’s arm and begins to shove her into the nearest classroom, “Dorothea!” she whispers panicked, “please!”

Sylvain quickly follows, barring the French classroom door behind him shut as Ingrid continues to try and placate her friend who is now leaning against one of the student desks and massaging her temples.

“Sylvain?!” Dorothea practically screeches through her teeth as she looks up at Ingrid. “Your sweet handsome perfect boyfriend is _Sylvain?!_ ”

His ego swells when he hears it. He will absolutely not let this go. 

“Him?!” Dorothea points in disbelief. “He’s the one? Him.”

“Hey…” he defends weakly as Ingrid frantically tries to sush an increasingly incredulous Dorothea. He and Dorothea really get along, hell, they were actually pretty good friends. He has no idea where this is coming from.

Dorothea’s mouth hangs open agape when Ingrid nods.

“Ingrid,” Dorothea says when she finally breathes. “Ingrid, he’s a manwhore.”

Sylvain crosses his arms and shoots a glare at Dorothea. “Former,” he says, offended. “It’s former manwhore, thank you very much.”

“Dorothea, I love you,” Ingrid sighs, “but please don’t talk about him like that.”

Dorothea recoils, blinking at Ingrid. “Oh my god. It actually really is him. This is the guy you’re madly in love with.”

Ingrid flushes a beautiful shade of red and Sylvain is suddenly not at all angry at Dorothea. “Madly in love huh?” he teases.

“ _Dorothea,_ ” Ingrid groans, burying her face in her hands.

Dorothea looks delighted by Ingrid’s embarrassment but her voice is fond and kind when nudges Ingrid. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Ingrid gestures between the three of them. “This is why!” She sighs. “I knew you would react like this.”

Dorothea has the decency to look a bit guilty. “Okay, okay, fair point, I’m sorry. You too Sylvain, sorry for calling you a manwhore.”

He shrugs. “All good here.” 

“I was just surprised,” Dorothea explains. “No excuse, I know but -it’s just, I mean - how did I not figure this out? We work together for god’s sake and we talk about him all the time!”

Sylvain’s grin could not get any wider, neither could his ego. “Aww, babe, you talk about me?”

Both the girls shoot him the dirtiest glare and he deflates like a sad balloon, sinking deep into the ugly tile of Lorenz’s classroom floor. “Right,” he says. “Shutting up now.”

Ingrid turns back to Dorothea. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Ingrid-”

“Please Dorothea, promise me you won’t tell anyone?”

Dorothea sighs and nods. “Fine,” she says. “I promise.”

The relief on Ingrid’s face makes him sigh a little and he knows that Dorothea catches it, knows because she shoots him a text later with the shrug emoji and nothing else.

* * *

It’s late, really late, and Ingrid is threatening to go home. It’s not even a school night. She’s just doing it to be mean, Sylvain just knows it. 

“Ingrid, it’s Friday,” he complains. “Why do you need to go back?”

They’re already in bed, although not under the covers. She had been reading something when he finished brushing his teeth and promptly thrown himself at her. Now his head is in her lap and he is laid out the wrong way on the bed as she runs a hand through his hair, taking his glasses off gently to put aside on the nightstand.

“There’s some stuff I want that I left there.”

He pouts. That is about the worst excuse she could possibly come up with. Now he’s sure she’s just riling him up. There is absolutely no reason that she needs that stuff right this second but he takes the bait anyway.

“Just leave your stuff here next time!” he insists.

She smiles down at him and he’s thankful that his eyesight is not so tragic that he can’t see her clearly without his glasses. “I do have stuff here.”

“Bring the rest of your stuff!” he tells her, sitting up. He crosses his legs and takes both her hands in his. “Ingrid, move in with me.”

She blinks at him twice. “What?” She grins, quirking her head, looking way too adorably confused.

“Move in with me,” he asks again. “Ingrid you practically live here already. It makes absolutely no sense that you’re paying rent in an apartment that you’re never in!”

She shakes her head. “I’m always in my apartment!”

“Yeah, for like an hour a day,” he argues. “For reasons that still don’t make sense to me, you drive back every morning at stupid-o’-clock just to shower and drive all the way back to Garreg Mach! Ingrid! That’s ridiculous!”

“Sylvain…” she says, and his face falls as well as his heart. “I can’t. If we move in together, people are going to find out.”

“Ingrid,” he says, squeezing her hands. “People already know. Dorothea knows and the whole world didn’t fall apart.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?” She smirks.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know that you had told her you where you were going with your boyfriend that weekend?”

She laughs. “I know, I know,” she concedes. “But Sylvain, Dorothea is just one person. We’re talking about the whole school here.”

He sighs again, exasperated, “Look, Ingrid,” he starts, staring straight into her eyes so that she can see how much he means this. How much he wants this. “The whole point of us keeping it a secret in the first place was because we were afraid that it wouldn’t work out, but here’s the thing, I’m pretty damn sure we’re gonna work out.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and she stares at him, slightly opened mouthed and he decides that he’s already made it this far so he might as well keep going.

“I want you to move in,” he tells her seriously. “I want you to move in and just be my girlfriend. Not my secret girlfriend- my girlfriend. I want to be able to tell my friends about you. I want to hold your hand in public. I want to invite our friends over for movies and game nights and dinner and not have to run a marathon because you freaked out and needed an excuse for spending time with me. Ingrid, you’re the love of my life, please don’t make me hide it anymore.”

Ingrid’s expression shifts several times. First, it’s a little like she’s in opened mouth awe, then it’s just fond, and lastly, it’s something that he can’t quite put a finger on but it is so warm and wonderful that he wants to see it on her always, see it for the rest of his life.

She leans forward and kisses him sweetly, holding their hands between them and Sylvain’s eyes fall shut as she lingers for just a moment. She’s perfect, even when she drives him absolutely insane with all of this, and God, he knows he’ll do anything she asks him to, even if he doesn’t want to.

“Okay,” she whispers on his lips.

His eyes shoot open. Ingrid is smiling at him and he is absolutely giddy. “Really?” He asks, a broad wide grin breaking out.

“Really,” she confirms with a smile.

“Yes!” He shouts happily, throwing his hands in the air before tackling her into the mattress and pinning her underneath him laughing, “where’s my phone? I need to text everyone.”

She thumps him lightly on the shoulder as she laughs too and Sylvain rises above her with his hands on both sides of her head, lifting his torso off of her so that they’re face to face, her golden hair splayed out on his pillow. “Oh no you don’t,” She tells him, bracing both hands on each of his elbows “We don’t have to hide it anymore but I’m not going to have you announcing it to the whole world right now.”

He pouts at her. “Aww, what?” He frowns. “Why not?”

Her hands travel slowly to reach around his neck and she pulls him closer to her. “Because I have something else I want to do right now,” she mumbles on his lips.

Sylvain happily obliges.

And on Monday, when they walk into school hand in hand and a thousand teenagers erupt into chaos, Sylvain couldn’t care any less.

Judging by the amused look on Ingrid’s face - neither could she.


End file.
